


I'm Your Puzzle

by spottyflake



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spottyflake/pseuds/spottyflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco is a quiz nerd, and when Jean tries to steal a glance at his flashcards, he learns a lot more than what he expected to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Your Puzzle

~~~x~~~

Marco Bodt is that guy at the front of the classroom, sitting at the second desk to the left of the door, always writing notes like an absolute nerd. 

Jean Kirstein has the perfect view of a broad back in his seat, directly behind said nerd.

And damn; what a lovely sight it is.

Marco is writing out one of his notes right now. He’s a quiz fanatic, so he’s always taking notes, no matter where he is; whether with friends or in the canteen, and he probably takes notes while sitting on the god damn toilet seat. 

Marco’s back is vibrating underneath a white shirt with anticipation as he writes, his shoulder shifting with every word, his head of brown locks turning to the paper and from the teacher, who’s standing beside the virtual whiteboard in front of the class. Marco looks a bit like a bobble head doll. 

A really cute, freckled bobble head doll. 

He certainly has the features of a doll, despite being fairly masculine in his appearance. Marco has big, round, chocolate coloured eyes, his hair looks like threads of silk, and his skin is so smooth it has Jean wondering whether he has ever had acne in his life. Then again, they’re seniors, so they’ve mostly grown out of the awkward acne stage in their teenage lives. 

Jean is supposed to be writing, is meant to take notes so that he doesn’t get caught out in case they get a pop quiz, but he figures he can just ask one of his smarter friends for help.

Sadly for him, it won’t be Marco he goes to for help; because Jean is pretty sure that his freckled classmate doesn’t even know he exists. 

Still, he could peek over his shoulder during the quiz, surely?

Jean is about to rest his chin in his hand, his elbow already on the wooden desk for the perfect resting position, and suddenly the bell rings. The teacher is trying to talk over the clatter of chairs as pupils try their best to get the fuck out of the stuffy classroom and into the summer sun outside. 

“We’re having a general knowledge quiz tomorrow, seeing as it’s the last day of term, and I know you want nothing more than to sit and relax. Just one more day, guys! See you all tomorrow!” he chirps, though no-one really listens.

Their tall, sweaty teacher is probably nervous about being shouted at again for not telling his students about a quiz, even when it’s supposed to be a pop-quiz. Although, this general knowledge quiz sounds more like a game thing than a test, so Jean should be fine.

He watches Marco get up from his seat. He smiles warmly while glancing slightly to Marco’s left, so as not to get caught staring, as Marco looks behind them to his friends sitting at the back, flashing a toothy grin in their direction. 

His eyes crinkle at the sides and Jean loves the way his cheeks become rounded, moving his freckles upwards on his face. He walks out the door with two other boys trailing behind him. Jean gulps when he‘s gone, wishing that that gorgeous smile had been meant for him.

Jean’s all by himself, still sitting at his desk while his teacher packs up at his desk at the front. The bright light of the afternoon sun still manages to shine through the shutters that are rocking gently against the open window. He slouches further into his seat with a groan and squints against the bright light.

Mr Hoover smiles sweetly at him as he slowly moves to pack up. “Is the weather getting to you? I can never concentrate very well when it’s this hot, even though I came from a warm country. Take your time packing up, Jean. See you!”

The teacher leaves Jean who’s still at his desk with his bag strap in his hand. He sluggishly stands up, glancing wistfully at Marco’s desk, wondering if there’s anything with his neat writing on it, handwriting that Jean has taken a liking to these past few months. 

Underneath the desk, he notices that Marco’s flashcards are still there, in two neat piles. He looks around the room, even though he knows no-one’s around, but still has to make sure for some reason. He’s filled with curiosity, wondering what notes Marco has made today on his flashcards, and if they’ll help him in the quiz tomorrow, which they probably will. He reaches out with a clammy hand to pick up the two piles and places them on top of Marco’s desk.

Biting his lip, Jean flicks through the first pile. On the square of peach coloured paper, there’s computer print in the left hand corner that says “Did you know…” and in Marco’s tidy pencil handwriting, there’s a fact. 

“A Kangaroo can hop at up to 40 miles per hour.”

Jean chuckles at the badly drawn animal in the corner of the paper and shuffles the cards, smiling like a dork while shamelessly rifling through Marco’s notes. Eh, it’s not like the quiz nerd ever has to know what he‘s doing. It’s his own fault for leaving his notes behind in the first place. Jean learns a number of things, as random as they may be. 

He discovers things such as: “the first credit card was issued in 1951“, “midday refers to the moment the sun crosses the local meridian” (whatever the hell that means) and that ‘“spurious” is an adjective meaning false and not what it appears to be, or based on something that has not been correctly understood‘.

He couldn’t really care less about the facts, they most likely are completely useless. But Jean finds that even Marco’s writing is enough to fill his mind with the boy, of images of him scrawling notes upon notes in the library, in the classroom, that one time in the middle of the street, just whenever he sees him, really. A sight he’s come to love.

Jean feels a surge of affection every time he sees a doodle in the corner of the page and every time there’s a slight lean to the words because they’ve been written in a rush. 

It’s enough to let Jean know that he’s completely fucked. 

But he’s already known that for the last six months and five days.

He carefully replaces the first pile underneath the taller boy’s desk then picks up the first card in the next pile.

Then he almost drops the entire pile when he reads the note.

In the corner of the note, the print still reads “Did you know…” but the type of fact that Marco has written down is enough to make his eyes feel like they‘re popping out their sockets.

“His name is Jean Kirstein.” 

There’s a heart drawn in the corner of the paper, coloured in pink highlighter ink.

…And here was Jean thinking that Marco had never even noticed him.

With his eyes wide open and his heart fluttering so quickly that it clamps up his throat, he moves onto the next card, putting the other one to the bottom.

“Jean is in his senior year at Saint Trost High.” That’s very true. Boring, but true. 

“He has blonde hair and dark roots, though rumour has it that it’s actually bleach and dye.” Jean frowns at that, running his fingers through his hair self-consciously, his face still aflame and still feeling giddy with excitement. 

“Jean orders pasta each day in the canteen, but complains that he doesn’t like it.” 

He’s gone very quickly from being flattered and excited to slightly worried for his own safety. 

There’s more of them. He lost count when going through the other pile, but he knows there’s a lot of notes. Maybe even more than in the first pile. Jean finds himself learning things about himself that a)He didn’t even know about himself and b)Things he’s pretty sure he only told his friends about, if even then.

“Jean stole a candy bar from a corner shop in his junior year but didn’t do it again because he felt too guilty and put it back later that day. Then got caught by the shopkeeper.”

“Jean is close friends with Sasha Braus, Connie Springer and Eren Jaeger.” 

Jean snorted at that. Him and Jaeger? Friends? Not likely.

“Jean picks fights with Eren, unintentionally riling him up.” 

Jean tilts his head at that fact in curiosity. Not many people can tell that Jean doesn’t always start fights intentionally, everyone assumes he just does it to annoy Eren, when in fact he is just speaking his mind. Or when he had been jealous of Eren’s relationship with a certain black haired girl, a girl he no longer likes that way. Him and Jaeger have been fighting less, he’d noticed that. 

“He’s terrible at taking compliments; he turns an adorable shade of red and goes quiet or splutters.”

“He says what he thinks, possibly has Pragmatic Disorder?” 

Jean rolls his eyes at that. The school counsellor is convinced he has some sort of personality disorder, and word got around that school that he’s a nut case. At least Marco leaves room for question. That’s so like him…

“Jean’s cynical, and wants a secure job for himself, so he mocks Eren for his adventurous ideas because to him they seem impractical.”

“Jean is a self declared realist.”

“Jean has really sexy forearms.” Jean’s mouth drops open and he lets out a sound that definitely isn’t a delighted squeal. He’ll be sure to roll up his sleeves on his shirt tomorrow though…

“He fidgets when he gets bored and gets bored easily if he’s not moving. His top three habits when bored are; staring into space, biting his nails and bouncing his right leg when sitting down.”

“He likes cutely shaped sweets, especially Gummy Bears.”

“When Jean was five, he broke his arm when learning to ride his bike.”

“His “good” side for pictures is his right side.”

“He’s better at working alone or as a leader because of his impulsiveness and black and white approach to decisions.”

“Jean has low levels of self belief and hides his insecurities.” 

Standing alone in the classroom, Jean is rendered speechless. He gapes open mouthed at the notes, tears threatening to spill over the sides of his eyes. No-one knows him this well. Not even his best friends. He hasn’t let anyone know him. 

And yet, somehow, simply from observing him (Stalking him? Asking around about him?) Marco has learned all of the things Jean keeps to himself, and more. He raises his free hand, curled into a fist, to cover his mouth at this realisation, biting his knuckle with his front teeth so hard that he leaves red teeth marks in his pale skin. 

He lets out a shaky sigh as he moves his hand, putting down the notes onto Marco’s desk. He stares at the table and puts his hands on it to steady himself. 

While he knows that it’s really weird for Marco to know all this about him, it’s not as if he hasn’t learned his fair share about Marco in more or less the same way. 

When he went home late one day after school, he found out Marco was in the football team and was a brilliant quarterback, yet chose to support his entire team instead of taking advantage of his position. And as far as he knows, Marco hasn’t fucked any of the cheerleaders, or even dated any of them (he’s beginning to see why now).

Jean knows exactly where Marco’s locker is, because he’s seen the soccer team pictures on its insides countless times as he watched Marco open it to get his folders and books between classes.

He knows that Marco really, really likes ice cream and gets hyper after eating just two scoops of Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough, his favourite, which can be told from the way he always buys it after school.

He knows from overhearing him in class when he was talking to his friends that Marco went camping with his family last summer, and that they’re going to do so again this year, and that he doesn’t mind it in the least because his dad’s coming with them this time.

He knows by word of mouth that Marco’s dad works offshore, and worked his ass off this year so that he could be with his family for the summer. 

He knows from the way Marco smiled when his mom called him during break a few weeks ago to tell him his dad would be coming back soon that he really loves his dad, even though he doesn’t get to see him much.

He knows that Marco has a freckle behind his ear that he doesn’t know about it.

Jean knows that Marco’s really good friends with Armin Arlert, Eren’s other attached person, because he saw them chatting one day when he was uptown, and they were both taking quiz notes together and walking into bookstores. Marco may or may not have walked out carrying four novels by Stephanie Meyer. 

Jean knows that Marco is one of the most selfless people he knows, because he stepped into a fight one night in a dark alleyway, and beat up burly men almost twice his age, just so he could save a guy like Jean. 

And he didn’t ask for anything in return. He only turned to smile at a love-struck Jean and after Jean reassured him he was fine (with a bright red face), Marco went back to his normal life, forgetting that Jean exists.

At least, that was what he thought before, but clearly… 

That’s obviously not true.

Spurred on by his excitement, Jean grins as he finds Marco’s blank notes. With the spare pencil under the desk, he begins to write things about himself, things that Marco surely wants to know. 

And even if he doesn’t want to know, well. Jean has the perfect blackmail material should that ever be the case. (He strongly reckons it wont be. At least, that‘s what he hoping for.)

~~~x~~~

Marco sprints at full speed into the classroom, rushes to his desk, picks up the chair he knocks over and apologises to poor Mina beside him, then looks underneath his desk for those flashcards.

He’d tried running back after his dinner last night, suddenly realizing his mistake as he bit into a bit of pork chop then quickly excused himself from the table so that he could run back to the school and get his notes. 

No-one is allowed to see those notes. He is going to carry them to his grave and then into the afterlife.

His attempt to persuade the grumpy janitor to let him inside failed, and he ended up trudging back home, empty handed. His face lighting up when he saw Jean Kirstein walking slowly ahead of him with a smug smile on his face. Marco got a good look at his ass, and he admittedly was slightly more okay with his lack of notes. 

It was a shame he didn’t have his peach coloured note cards though, because damn, he really wanted to write down the fact that Jean had a fine ass, because something like that was important, even if easily remembered. 

At least no-one knows how much of a pervert he really is. 

His notes are there, thank god, but somehow… they feel different? They’re still in two neat piles, but… he was pretty sure he left them further back than that…

He decides to check them. His first pile is his general knowledge quiz cards. He carries them around with him wherever he goes, just because he likes adding to his list of random facts. 

He makes a mental note to add one of the facts that he learned from his mom’s newspaper this morning: “obsequious is an adjective meaning to attempt to win favour from influential people by flattery”. 

Marco gulps when he picks up his second pile, because this is the pile of notes that mean the most to him, since he’s been adding to them for seven long months and four days and well, because of the subject matter that they contain, really.

His face falls when he sees that the corners of the paper are slightly bent, as though someone has flicked through each of these cards individually. He grimaces, ignoring the people around him as he sits down and goes through each one, smiling slightly at some of his favourite facts about Jean Kirstein. 

Just then, said boy comes into the room just then, wearing his black and white school uniform with his shirt sleeves rolled up, and a dark scowl on his expression. Though it’s…not as dark as it usually is? Marco had learned after a while that Jean’s default face naturally fell into a scowl, whether he wanted it to or not, and had to get around the fact that he isn’t glaring at Marco. At least, that’s what he hopes is true anyway. 

He quickly hides away his peach coloured notes as Jean passes him, glancing at Marco as he smiles at his crush, breathing shallowly as Jean returns the look with a small grin of his own.

Usually, he’s a little too nervous to look at Jean directly, so it’s always a treat when he gets rewarded with a smile for his efforts. 

When he’s certain that no-one’s watching him, he glances hastily at his notes, continuing to make sure that everything is in order. 

Then he comes across a note that is not in his handwriting.

Underneath the print saying “Did you know…” there is a messy scrawl that somehow looks familiar to him.

“Jean’s dick is six and half inches long.”

Marco’s eyes widen at the crude language, his mouth drops open and he blushes furiously at the fact that there is a very personal fact right in front of him. It means that someone saw his notes… but if this fact is true? Marco… finds that he doesn’t really care in the least…

He reaches a hand to cover his mouth, just in case the squeal he thinks he heard came from his mouth and eagerly moves onto the next card, which is also not in Marco’s handwriting. 

“Jean’s “type” is tall, brunette and freckled. Oh, and manly. Very manly. Especially the “quarterback” kind of manly.”

Marco just about dies on the spot.

He continues to flick through the notes, his breathing is shaky and he thinks his name was called out by the teacher, but since he isn’t bothered further, Marco ignores him. Marco swoons as the facts become sweeter, more endearing, things he really, really hopes is true, even they’re too good to be.

“Jean’s favourite colour is orange.”

“Jean likes it when people doodle in the corner of their papers.” Marco stifles a giggle when he remembers the drawings he put onto his other pile of notes.

“Jean’s mom calls him Jeanbo, he acts like he hates it, but really he loves being a momma’s boy.”

“Jean’s favourite food is omelettes.”

“Jean’s dad is a marine biologist, and Jean really likes to go to the beach and aquariums.”

“Jean’s hair is NOT dyed or bleached, contrary to common assholes’ beliefs.”

Marco is already so dizzy with adoration that his heart nearly stops when he reads the final card. It may be the last one, but he’s not disappointed in the least.

The handwriting has written over the “Did you know…” so that it emphasizes it, making the whole thing read as:

“Did you know that Jean’s cell number is in Marco Bodt’s locker?”

Immediately after reading it, only taking a second to process the information, Marco shoots his hand up and asks in a high pitched voice if he can go to the bathroom.

However, the bells rings, so instead of waiting for a confirmation of dismissal from his teacher, he grabs his bag and runs out the classroom, heading straight to his locker. 

As he’s running, thoughts keep piling up in his mind.

What if it’s all an elaborate prank? 

Who even wrote those facts on his cards?

Was it Jean who wrote them? 

Was it really Jean Kirstein, the same boy he’s been madly in love with for seven months and four days, the same boy he somehow managed to rescue with his crappy karate skills only a month after realizing his feelings for him?

But then again, what if this is just an elaborate prank and someone is going to be at his locker to pummel him for being gay? Not that anyone has before, but Marco can’t help but be paranoid since no-one knows his sexuality except for his family.

That was why he learned to take karate as soon as joined high school; it was all thanks to his dad’s suggestion that he learn to take care of himself. So far, he’s only been verbally teased, but he knows he’s been let off easy.

He’s in front of his locker now, and his footsteps have stopped squeaking in the hallway. He’s by himself in the hallway after the rush of pupils pass by him. He looks around, making sure that no-one is hiding behind any corners, that there are no cupboards for him to be locked into or have people hiding in them. 

Taking a deep breath, he opens his locker and gasps when a square piece of peach paper falls to the ground in front of him. He crouches down to grab it, eager to see if it really is what he hopes it will be…

“Did you know that Jean’s number is…” 

He laughs out loud in the middle of the empty hallway, jumping like a little kid at the fact that this is real, this is definitely real. 

It has to be, because there’s a legit looking number, and an awful doodle of the two of them kissing; Jean with his two toned undercut, screwing his eyes shut as he kisses (with lips so pursed that they look like the number three) another face -his face- with freckles, who’s eyes appear to be equally screwed up.

Marco cups his face in his hands, swaying from side to side in sheer happiness.

Underneath the drawing and the cell number, it says: “Stay behind after class, I have a “fact” I think you’d like to learn.”

~~~x~~~

The door shuts with a quiet click behind Marco, leaving them inside the old, unused classroom with only a few chairs at the side and one teacher‘s desk at the front of the room. At some point, Jean had somehow managed to seize the key to the room from Mr Hoover’s stash on his desk. They’re safe from any teachers finding them, because school finishes early on the last day of term. 

All the pupils are gone. All the teachers are in the staffroom, soon to go outside to the front yard to have their pre-summer vacation barbeque. 

Jean knows how to get them both out the back door unseen, seeing as his mom’s a dinner lady at their school and no-one really notices him anymore whenever he sneaks out after studying at school late.

They’re both nervous, and they’re both trembling, having just escaped their last class to get here, having just realized that they are both in the same room, and are completely alone with each other.

Marco had sighed with relief when Jean quirked an eyebrow at him as he entered his next class with Jean. Both of them had stared at one another with their heartbeats in their throats, and the sexual tension had been rising steadily ever since. Both of them had been trying to believe it was all true, that they really do both like each other -a helluva lot, in actual fact- until their teacher had cleared his throat, demanding their attention. 

Marco had turned back around in his seat, having to bite his bottom lip to hide his giggling fit as Jean began to kick the back of his seat during their lesson, snaking his foot to the small of Marco’s back as the latter squirmed at the pressure. 

In the abandoned classroom Jean doesn’t hold his hand, but hell, he really wants to, even though he’s still too nervous to take the initiative. Marco leans up against the door, huffing from having to run with Jean to this classroom, still unable to catch his breath because holy shit, this is really happening.

The room is filled with sunlight because there are no shutters covering the windows, but they won’t be seen, they’re too high above the ground for anyone to see them (but they both know they should avoid the windows anyway, just in case). There’s dust in the air, and even though it means the room is a little filthy, Marco can’t help but think that their seclusion is pretty romantic.

Jean stands in front of him, blocking the sunlight from his face so that Marco can only see his silhouette. Marco shrugs his bag onto the floor, and Jean copies him, tossing his bag beside Marco’s. 

While trembling, Marco leans back against the door, narrowly avoiding hitting his hipbone off the doorknob. Jean has locked the door as a precaution. Marco rubs his neck, feeling his pulse beating erratically under his sticky palm, and it’s racing almost as fast as his thoughts are.

Marco is the kind of person that talks for the sake of talking, so he’s the first to break the silence because otherwise, he’ll dive into things too quickly and will probably ruin any chance he might have with this beautiful boy in front of him, this boy that has sunlight on his back and is walking back towards him oh so slowly.

“Y-you saw my notes…?” 

Marco’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper, because there’s no way he’s able to talk normally just yet under the circumstances. Jean likes Marco’s voice, especially when it‘s this soft. It’s higher than most boys’ at their age and yet does nothing to diminish his charm, if anything, the innocent hesitancy in his voice adds to it. 

The floorboards creek beneath him as he walks, and Jean turns red as he realizes it’s his turn to speak, when he sees how flushed Marco already is, and how his freckles fade beneath the crimson on his skin, and how he’s most definitely going to fuck this up if he doesn’t say the right things.

“And you s-saw mine?” Jean curses internally at his inability to control his stutter.

Marco nods, feeling his mouth form a lopsided smile and endures a warm tingling in his chest as he and Jean maintain eye contact. Jean’s eyes are tawny coloured, and Marco knows he’s never seen a more spectacular colour in his life. 

His own eyes go cross eyed while looking at the boy below him. Jean’s close, so close now and when he wraps his arms around Marco’s waist, Marco’s eyes widen as a surge of joy shoots through his body and his pants become a little tighter.

Jean’s daring, Marco learns, because his hands are travelling close to his ass. He doesn’t mind this. Not at all. In fact, he’s becoming much more loose under Jean’s touch, he can feel himself melting into a puddle, yet his nerves are working overtime as Jean’s breath hitches, air ghosting over the crook of Marco’s neck, and the skin there is burning so much at the sensation that it sends shivers down his body. 

Jean smiles as he inhales his scent through his nose, which is pressed against Marco‘s sensitive skin.

Marco lifts his own shaking hands so that they’re around Jean’s shoulders, leaning his cheek into Jean’s warm, soft head of two toned hair. He closes his eyes, no longer caring how dumb his flushed, dopey face looks or how loud his heartbeat is (though he‘s sure Jean can hear it). 

“You’re going to have to t-tell me what that fact is, I’m dying to know.” 

Jean snorts a laugh as he nuzzles into Marco‘s neck. “Why, you gonna write it down on one of your flashcards?”

Marco sighs brokenly, still shaking with nerves from the contact, and he can feel Jean’s hands quivering on the small of his back. 

“M-maybe, if I can hold t-the pencil without shaking as much as I am now.” he chuckles breathily, resting his chin on Jean‘s shoulder and rubbing his hands in circles against the back of Jean’s shirt, making the other arch against his touch like a cat and almost purr like one too.

“Or you can, s-s-seeing as you already started writing them f-for me.”

Marco gasps and freezes, feeling a new kind of warmth on his neck as Jean pulls back slightly. He gulps, trying to come to terms with the fact that Jean kissed his neck. 

Jean’s voice drops into something more husky. “Glad t’see I’m not the only one that’s so d-damn nervous.” 

He leans right back, and Marco moves his hands to rest on Jean’s biceps. Marco finds himself staring at Jean’s pink, pouting lips and his eyebrows raise unconsciously when Jean licks them with a swipe of his tongue. He looks up, straight into Jean’s tawny eyes, and feels his heart beat even faster when Jean cups a hand over his burning cheek.

“D-did you know…” Jean begins, seemingly sounding as though he’s out of breath, and his gasps of air over Marco’s parted mouth have Marco inhaling sharply. 

Jean groans audibly, cringing and wishing he wasn’t so much of a coward as he quickly whispers, “I really like you, like, a fucking lot, and I think you’re the best person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in my entire life.” Jean’s eyes flutter then he squeezes them shut.

Marco leans further back into the door, head reeling at Jean’s not so eloquent but mind blowing confession, his warm closeness, his lips on his as Jean leans forward to kiss… 

Marco hesitates, hovering over Jean’s mouth as he breathes faster, squeezing his eyes shut, and quickly squeaks “I like you too!” then lets Jean kiss him.

But Jean’s lips only brush over his as a banging at the door makes them jump and squawk in fear. 

After a stern, long lecture from Mr Ackerman in the counsellor’s office, they walk out the school with their bags on their backs, fingers entwined, shoulders bumping into each other playfully. 

Both of them are smirking, Jean more than Marco since he knew all along that they couldn’t get a detention since it was summer vacation, and that they would never be coming back to this dumb school again. 

Marco pouts, looking back at the school wistfully.

“I left my notes under my desk again.” he tells Jean with sad puppy dog eyes.

Jean’s smirk broadens, and he waggles his dark eyebrows at Marco as he leans more into his body. 

“Well then, I guess you’ll have to learn all the facts from experience then.” Jean tells him, and presses a kiss to the side of Marco’s mouth, startling the taller boy.

Marco knows that he gets to learn Jean’s six and half inches from experience, rather than from an anonymous note; and the freckled boy with a brand new boyfriend finds that he doesn’t mind this at all.

**Author's Note:**

> it was supposed to be funny, it was supposed to be smut, and then it turned into sappy romance wtf. This is me exploring feelings during a crush, since i cant remember how they feel, and since i write this sort of stuff, i probably should


End file.
